Elbows on his knees, Corey cradled his head in his hands. “I don’t know, man. Sometimes I feel like I’ve got the world on my back and if I don’t do something I’m going to crumble into a pile of dust. Someone’s going to sweep me under a carpet and make me disappear.”
Rémi’s eyebrows winged up. Either the kid was suicidal, or he was afraid of something… or someone. “I want to help you, Corey. I really do. But I can’t if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
When Corey lifted his face, eyes swimming with tears, Rémi’s heart squeezed. Shit. He had to be careful. The kid looked so fragile, so vulnerable. If he didn’t handle this right, he’d lose Corey. “Whatever it is, I’ll help you. I promise.”
Corey seemed to consider it for a moment, but then he shook his head. “I can handle it.”
Fuck. What was it going to take to get the kid to open up? Hopefully, he’d figure out a way before it was too late. “Okay, but my offer stands. If you need me, I’m just a phone call away. Problems are always easier to solve when you’re not alone.”
And there it was again, that obstinate expression Rémi hated so much. The kid was shutting down, and this conversation was going nowhere fast. Time to change tactics. Alyssa had called earlier and told him about the footprint the SQ had found. Maybe Corey could help him find the owner. “I was wondering if you could help me with a problem of my own.”
Glassy, confused eyes looked back at him. “Uh…sure. Whatever you need.”
“Any of your friends skateboard?”
Corey returned to his initial sprawled position and hung his head over the back of the seat, staring at the ceiling. “Some.”
“Names?”
Corey raised his head, glancing around. “Got any food in here?”
Great. Now the kid had the inevitable munchies. Rémi sighed and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. He grabbed an Oh Henry! from his private stash and tossed it onto the kid’s lap.
Corey gawked at the candy bar as if it had somehow materialized out of thin air. “Wow, man. That was awesome.”
Rémi rolled his eyes. “Got some names for me?’
Using his teeth, Corey ripped open the wrapper and bit off a third of the bar. “Why do you want to know?” he asked, chewing noisily.
“Somebody killed a pig in Sergeant Morgan’s motel room and left her a threatening message. There’s some evidence suggesting the perpetrator was a skateboarder.”
Mouth open, Corey stopped mid-chew. Rémi winced and the kid closed his mouth and swallowed. “I don’t know anything about that,” he said, his attention returning to the stain on his knee.
What was up with that stain? And the scratches on his arm? “I didn’t say you did. At this point, there’s no reason to suspect anyone from Blackriver. We’re just covering all the bases.”
Corey took another bite and chewed slowly. “Mac and Johnny skate. A few other kids too.”
“They hang out at the skatepark behind the high school?”
“Mostly, but they also go to the one in town sometimes. They won’t get into any trouble, will they?”
“Not unless they killed the pig.”
“Okay.” He swallowed, then looked up. “Got anything to drink?”
Puberty and drugs, what a wonderful combination. “Answer a few more questions, and I’ll get you a Coke from the vending machine.”
“Okay, cool.”
Hoping to catch the kid off-guard, Rémi paused for a few seconds before blurting out his question. “Who sold you the pot?”
Corey stiffened and studied his flip-flops. “No one.”
“You’re growing it?”
His gaze shot to Rémi. “What? No.” He snorted. “Where would I grow it? It’s not like I own any land, or a ranch like you do.”
“Well if you didn’t grow it yourself, you had to get it from somewhere.”
“Got it from a guy in town.”
“Give me specifics, Corey.”
“Why? You’re not a cop anymore.”
“If someone is selling drugs to rez kids, it’s my business. Who was it?”
“Some dude who hangs out in front of the Couche-Tard across the street from the skatepark.”
The kid was probably bullshitting, but he’d check it out anyways. More important was the seemingly offhand comment he’d made about land. What if drugs weren’t flowing into Blackriver First Nation? What if they were flowing out?
Blackriver First Nation covered thousands of acres, ninety percent of which was uninhabited. Other than the odd hunter, no one ever walked those woods. And because of their air sovereignty, no surveillance planes or helicopters ever flew over the reserve, making it the perfect haven for growing and harvesting illegal drugs.
Why hadn’t he thought of this before?
Because he was fucking blind, and it took a stupid kid to open his eyes.
Alyssa parked her car where she could observe both the skatepark and the dépanneur Couche-Tard. As she was leaving the station, Rémi had called to give her the names of Corey’s skateboarding friends and the possible location of his drug dealer. It wasn’t much, but it was more of a lead than she’d had before.
The park was deserted except for a few young boys decked out in protective gear, practicing basic board stalls and grinds while their mothers stood guard. Alyssa checked her watch. It was just after one. The crowd she needed was probably just rolling out of bed.
Two teenage girls walked out of the dépanneur sucking on Sloches, the Couche-Tard’s brand of ice drink. She couldn’t blame them. It was hotter than Hades and the humidity couldn’t have been higher if it was raining. A cherry-flavored Sloche Sang-froid sounded pretty fantastic right about now, even if the name—cold blood—wasn’t particularly appetizing, especially after last night. Making up her mind, Alyssa climbed out of the car, locked the doors and headed over to the store.
Passing the teens, she hesitated. Girls this age were always watching boys. They probably came here every day to check out the guys as they fought to outdo each other on the halfpipe. “Hi girls. I’m a reporter for the local paper, and I’m doing a story on skateboarding. Do you know if any really good skaters practice here?”
The girls glanced at each other and started to giggle. Alyssa smiled, trying to project an air of patience. Finally, the taller of the two spoke. “The local boys come here pretty much every day. But…” She turned back to her friend and raised her eyebrows.
The other girl finished for her friend. “The really good ones are the rez kids. But they only come a few times a week, usually in the evenings.”
Alyssa winked. “I take it you two hang out here pretty regularly?”
“Yeah.” More giggling.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Barely. “Hey, I was wondering…nah.”
They looked up, expressions eager. “What?”
“My boss is working me like crazy so I can’t stay and wait. Could you call me when the experts show up?”
“Will you include us in the story?” the shorter one asked.
“Sure.” She scribbled her cell number on a piece of paper from her purse.
After thanking the girls, she opened the door to the dépanneur and stepped inside. Cool air enveloped her, chilling the sweat on her back and between her breasts, making her shiver. Why did stores insist on cooling systems set to Arctic? Rubbing her arms, she strolled to the far side of the store where the Sloche machine was located. The clerk, a skinny pimply male barely north of puberty, watched as she passed, his eyes burning a hole through her pants. He wore a World of Warcraft T-shirt and looked like he’d probably never had a date in his life.
The way she saw it, she had two choices: she could flash her badge and question him, or she could keep her cover and get her answers with a little harmless flirting. The first was probably more ethical, but the second would get her more information. The top and slacks she wore weren’t particularly sexy but.... Her back to the clerk, she undid an extra button of her blouse.
&
nbsp; Hips swaying, she sauntered over to the register and leaned against the counter. Holding the guy’s gaze, she brought the straw of her Sloche to her lips and sucked, drawing the cherry drink into her mouth. The crushed ice mix slipped down her throat, chilling her. Her nipples pebbled, pushing through her lace bra. Crap.
Work with it Alyssa.
With a slow, sensual swipe of her tongue, she licked her lips. Sweat popped out on the clerk’s forehead. She put a hand to her chest, drawing his attention downwards. “Oh yeah, that feels so good. I was dying out there.”
“Uh…yeah. But it’s not bad in here.” He cleared his throat but his focus stayed on her chest.
“You’re lucky to have such a great job, with air-conditioning and everything.” She took another sip of her drink and read his nametag. Doug Brown.
Looking up, he smiled, clearly flattered. “I get to meet a lot of nice people. Like you.”
Alyssa almost choked. The guy’s come-ons needed some work. Instead, she covered her mouth and giggled. “You seem pretty nice yourself. Doug, right? Maybe you could help me with something?”
He leaned over the counter, inching his hand closer to hers. “Anything for a beautiful lady.”
Poor guy. Another cheesy line. “I’m doing a story on skateboarding. And I thought that maybe since there’s a skatepark right across the street, you’re probably an expert on it.”
His eyes widened. “You want to interview me?”
Sure, why not? She smiled. “You’re a very reliable source, right?”
“You bet. What do you want to know? I don’t skate much myself anymore, you know, now that I’m older, but I know a lot about it.”
“That’s great because it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to ask boys some of my questions.” She leaned forward and ran a hand along his arm. “But since you’re a man, I can ask you, right?”
He grinned like a smiley face. “Ask away.”
“My boss thinks the skate kids are doing drugs. He says only someone drugged out of their minds would be crazy enough to do the tricks they do. What do you think?”
His grin fell and he frowned. “Well, some of them do. But skateboarding when you’re high is dangerous.”
“Sounds like you have some personal experience with that.”
“My best friend killed himself skateboarding when he was stoned. Thought he was freaking Shaun White and tried to do an armadillo.”
An armadillo?
He saw the confusion on her face. “A frontside heelflip 540 body varial, a trick pretty much only Shaun White can land. Anyways, the board got out from under him and he landed on his head. Broke his neck. Died a week later. He never would have tried the armadillo if he hadn’t been high.”
Jesus. Maybe she should have just flashed her badge. She touched his hand. “I’m sorry, Doug. I lost someone close to me in a drug-related incident as well.”
He shrugged. “Anyways, after that, I got on the zero-tolerance bandwagon. My parents helped me organize a neighborhood watch. Local adults are always patrolling the area and especially the park, making sure the kids behave and follow the rules.”
Maybe a neighborhood watch would have discouraged the Vipers and the Raptors from bringing their war to the park where Andy had been playing. Maybe he wouldn’t be dead. Pain stabbed her chest. She took another sip of her drink, sucking hard on the straw. “So, as far as you know, no kids are doing drugs or buying them at the park?”
“Nope. And I’d know if they were.”
“You’ve never seen anyone who looks like a drug dealer hanging around the park or in front of your store?”
He laughed, and when his eyes twinkled, he was sort of cute. “No. Just lots of kids and parents.”
She opened her purse and ripped a sheet from her notepad. After scribbling down her cell number, she handed the paper to him. “Call me if you ever see anything suspicious.”
“Cross my heart,” he said with a grin as he put actions to words.
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she smiled. “See, I knew you were the right man to ask.”
She started to pull her wallet out of her purse, but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. And a wink. “I don’t make much, but I can afford to buy a Sloche for a beautiful lady. It’s on me.”
This time, it wasn’t pain stabbing her chest. Stepping outside, she struggled to maintain the smile she’d pasted on her face.
Once again, she’d manipulated a man to get what she wanted.
Once again, she’d used questionable ethics.
Once again, she’d used sex as a weapon.
CHAPTER 10
Chaz walked out the kitchen door into the backyard and tilted his face to the sun, loving the heat on his skin. The squeals and laughter as his boys jumped through the cold water from the sprinkler made him smile and reminded him of when he, Tommy, and Rémi had been about the same age. How many hot summer days had they spent running through sprinklers, swimming in the river, playing kickball or lacrosse? Too many to count.
They’d owned Blackriver. They could have ruled it. They could have led their people into the future, together.
Then everything changed. They had changed, forgotten their roots. Rémi had turned white, and Tommy had become a self-righteous prick.
Now it was up to Chaz to save his community. His cousins would have to decide if they were with him or against him. And if they chose to be against him? Like everyone else, they’d be expendable, simple casualties of war.
The screen door slammed and Sarah stepped outside. His wife had her faults, but she was a good Iroquois woman. And he’d needed that after the miserable semester he’d spent at McGill, studying pre-law. Sick of the condescending looks, the pedantic lectures, and the put-offs from the female students, he’d returned to his people with his tail between his legs, his spirit crushed. But with her sweet smiles and traditional ways, Sarah had rebuilt him.
Lips curved, eyes twinkling, she took his outstretched hand and curled into his body. He wrapped his free arm around her narrow waist and pressed a kiss to her head, her long dark hair caressing his cheeks. Even after bearing him two sons, she still set him on fire in her cutoff jean shorts and brightly colored halter top.
Protecting Sarah, caring for her, fathering children with her had made him feel like a man again. To give her and their children the world they deserved—one free of the white man’s rule—he’d face death with honor.
Her hand cupping his chin, Sarah pressed her mouth to his in a brief kiss. When she pulled back, she searched his face. “Is everything okay? You seem preoccupied.”
He kissed her palm. “You own my heart.”
She smiled, but if anything, her eyes looked even more concerned. “And you own mine. If something’s bothering you, I hope you know you can tell me. We’ll work it out together. Just like we always do.”
“I know, beautiful. Everything’s fine.” Or at least it would be once this deal with the Vipers went through. Sarah supported his plans to return their people to a more traditional way of life. She’d supported him when he’d broken off from the Defenders, understanding that violence was sometimes the only path to peace. But he knew without asking that she wouldn’t support how he was getting the funding to accomplish his goals. Her beliefs weren’t quite as Darwinian as his.
Sliding her arm around his neck, she hugged him tightly, then turned and molded herself to him. She was by his side, as always. They stood arm-in-arm watching their children frolic in the water, both of them content. Until the vibrating of his phone in his back pocket ruined the moment.
Annoyed, he dug it out and answered without checking the caller ID. “Yeah?”
“Whoever taught you phone etiquette botched the job. If I were you, I’d demand a refund.”
At Nitro’s sarcastic tone, Chaz stiffened. His hand fell from Sarah’s waist, and she slipped away to join the boys. If the caller were anyone other than Nitro, Chaz would ream him a new one.
As it was, he had to pla
y nice. The Vipers were his ticket to a shitload of money. Money to buy weapons. Weapons that would return the Guardians to their rightful place as enforcers of the Great Law of Peace. They’d run Blackriver and make things right again.
And when the mission was accomplished, this cocksucker Nitro would be first on his hit list. “Ha ha, very funny. I thought you were my wife calling to bitch about why I was late for lunch.”
Nitro laughed. “I never would’ve taken you for a submissive, Jackal. But thanks for sharing.”
Chaz gritted his teeth. He hated the man more than he’d ever hated anyone. Maybe it was the blond hair, or maybe it was his blue eyes and white skin. Maybe it was because Nitro was an arrogant motherfucker who had him by the short hairs.
Turning his back to Sarah and the kids, Chaz headed into the house. The less chance of her eavesdropping on this conversation the better. “Are we still on for this afternoon?”
“The boss has some concerns.”
Chaz’s mouth went dry. If The Carver reneged on the deal, his plans were screwed. “What about? Production’s on target.”
“We got some numbers in yesterday. Sales of weed are down.”
Opening the door to the refrigerator, he leaned in to see if Sarah had made some strawberry drink. “Sales are your part of the arrangement.” A fresh pitcher of the maple-sweetened concoction sat on the second shelf. Had the Creator ever made a more perfect woman? He filled a tall glass and chugged half of it down.
“If we can’t sell it, we won’t buy it.”
The drink turned sour in his stomach. “So what are you saying? People don’t smoke pot anymore?” he snorted.
“Sure they do. But other than old timers and purists, mostly they mix it with other stuff.”
“So you want me to lace it with something? Like PCP?”
The bastard had the nerve to laugh. “You’re shitting me, right? Kids today don’t even know what the fuck PCP is. Meth’s the new black, Tonto.”
Head spinning, Chaz stumbled over to the kitchen table and sat heavily in his chair. Fucking crackers wanted him to make meth. Could he do it? Growing pot was like being a gardener. Operating a meth lab? Not so much. The shit was dangerous. “Not meth. But maybe I can come up with something else. Something even better.”
Sugar and Sin Bundle Page 30